


An Unexpected Date

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Dates, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bilbo is So Done, Blind Date, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, First Dates, First Meeting, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Thorin, POV Thorin, Pining Thorin, Poor Bilbo, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Feels, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a dork, Thorin-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uncle Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Bad date?”</em><br/>  <em>With a sardonic snort, Thorin snatched up the glass and took a few more gulps, smiling thankfully as Bilbo refilled it right away.</em><br/>  <em>“Never agree to a blind date,” he advised.</em><br/>  <em>Bilbo grimaced. “I don’t know what I would do, if it ever came to that.”</em><br/>  <em>“I only wish I knew how to get out of this date sooner,” Thorin bemoaned.</em><br/>  <em>“Family emergency?” Bilbo offered. “I’ve seen plenty of those.”</em></p><p>Nagged by his family members for too long, Thorin agrees to a blind date. Unsurprisingly, it goes terribly. But it seems not all hope is lost - in fact, the waiter catches Thorin's eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Date

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, and since tomorrow is my birthday, I decided to finally post it.  
> The title and summary suck, sorry.  
> I feel like I should have re-watched Sideways in order to prepare for the wine details.  
> Warning: the characterization of Thranduil is under-developed and shallow C:

Thorin looked up from the black and white menu before him, glancing around the room. Deep red walls matched the cushioned seats and the decorative roses placed at each table. Candlelight created a soft, intimate ambience; the enshrouding darkness encouraged close, hushed conversation.

Overall, the restaurant had a classy, romantic atmosphere.

Thorin found it to be completely suffocating.

He supposed if someone was  _ sickeningly _ in love, this would be the ideal place to enjoy an evening out. However, for just a blind date, it was completely over-the-top and, dare he say,  _ pretentious _ .

Glancing at the man across from him, Thorin’s lips twitched in a suppressed grimace.

Pretentious indeed.

Thorin had no idea how in Mahal’s name Balin thought this would be a good idea. In fact, he was quite sure it was a cruel joke at Thorin’s expense – Dwalin must have put his brother up to it, that bastard.

Thranduil – yes, that was an actual  _ name _ apparently – had ivory, blemish-free skin, long, smooth silver-blonde hair, surprisingly thick, dark eyebrows (albeit groomed to perfection), impossibly high cheekbones, and cold blue eyes.

While Thorin was not into the idea of a set-up, and only did so to temporarily avoid everyone nagging him about finding something  _ finally _ (their words, not his), he was willing to be civil. But before he had even finished introducing himself, Thranduil had let out a dramatic sigh, waving dismissively as he muttered, “You’ll do.”

Things had not improved since then, to say the least.

Everything about the man grated on Thorin’s nerves – from the way his lips pursed as though permanently unimpressed, to his obvious desire to look anywhere but at his actual  _ date _ . Every time Thorin tried to contribute to the conversation, the other man would sigh and raise a haughty brow until Thorin shut up.

Thranduil seemed infinitely impressed by the sound of his own voice, talking non-stop about – well, Thorin wasn’t completely sure. He had tuned the other man out a long, long… _ long _ time ago.

Pulling back his sleeve, Thorin tried to surreptitiously check the time.

“It is taking a while, is it not?” Thranduil drawled rhetorically, thick and weirdly well-groomed brow rising as he glared at the wait staff busy assisting other customers.

Thorin snorted quietly. It was not the long wait time he minded, so much as with  _ whom  _ he was forced to wait.

“Good evening.”

A soft, smooth voice disturbed Thorin from his miserable thoughts, the man looking up immediately.

“Welcome. My name is Bilbo, and I will be your server tonight.”

The speech was delivered with practised ease, though Thorin liked to think the small smile the waiter – Bilbo – sent him was not quite so practised. The short man’s curly hair was pulled behind his ears, and Thorin could not tell if it was truly such a shimmering gold, or simply a trick of the firelight. His hazel eyes focused on Thorin, lips pulling into a half-smile as though he fought against it. A fitted maroon jacket cut into the waiter’s ample figure, drawing Thorin’s gaze against his will.

“Pardon me?”

Bilbo turned to the other customer; apparently Thranduil had spoken, and both he and Thorin had missed it.

“I said,” Thranduil spoke slowly, voice hard with annoyance, “I will have the Meursalt Chardonnay.”

A little belatedly, Bilbo pulled out his pad, writing the order down with a dutiful nod. Before he could turn back to Thorin, however, Thranduil continued. “Since it is apparent you are far too busy to wait on your customers, we will order now.”

“My apologies, sir,” Bilbo began courteously. “We’re rather busy –”

“I will be having the tagliatelle with porcini sauce and freshly shaved Parmesan cheese. Do care that it is  _ truly  _ freshly shaved. I know the difference.”

“Of course, sir,” Bilbo replied curtly, scribbling the instructions down before turning to Thorin. His gaze seemed to warm immediately, the tightness in his jaw releasing into a smile. “And for you, sir?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know wines very well,” Thorin lied without thinking. He loved red wine – in fact, he was the only one in his large family who preferred it to ale. Yet he wished to hear Bilbo’s voice, get to know him just a  _ little _ , as ridiculous as it sounded. “Perhaps you can make a recommendation?’

Bilbo’s smile widened, an indent in his right cheek hinting at a dimple. “The Montes Alpha Cabernet Sauvignon is a personal favourite of mine,” Bilbo revealed, and was it just Thorin’s imagination, or was his voice truly  _ sultry _ ?

“Does it also happen to be the most expensive wine on the menu?” Thranduil interrupted.

Bilbo’s alluring grin quickly fell, replaced with a tight, small smile.

“I’ll take it,” Thorin declared before the waiter could be further subjected to Thranduil’s snobbery. He may as well save one of them. “Along with the grilled rib-eye, medium please.”

Bilbo murmured his thanks, reaching over to fold Thranduil’s menu before picking it up. Thorin handed his already folded menu over, stomach flipping as Bilbo sent him an appreciative smile.

“I will be right back with your drinks,” Bilbo promised, glancing over his shoulder at Thorin even as he walked away. The man could not be blamed if his eyes followed the gentle curve of Bilbo’s backside, though his date seemed less than impressed with the display.

“What do you do for work?” Thranduil asked, as if already bored with the answer.

Teeth grinding, Thori turned back to the man seated across from him, playing along with the civil, utterly mind-numbing conversation.

 

Bilbo returned within moments, placing wine glasses in front of each man before uncorking the bottles. He started with the red, carefully pouring the ruby liquid in front of Thorin. As Thorin reached forward, gently swirling the glass to oxidize the drink, he received a surprised look from the waiter.

That’s right – Thorin wasn’t supposed to know anything about red wine. He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away as Bilbo turned to pour Thranduil’s glass.

“Is it to your taste?” Bilbo asked as Thorin took his first sip.

Thorin pursed his lips, twirling the drink some more before taking another drink. “It will do,” he allowed finally, lips curving as Bilbo indignantly huffed.

“If everything is to your liking,” the waiter said with a slight bow of his head, “I will return shortly with your dinner.”

“If I am not mistaken, I would say the waiter is flirting with you,” Thranduil commented as Bilbo walked away.

Thorin quickly turned back to his date, brow raising as though he were mildly uninterested in such a topic.

“Some people will do anything for tips,” Thranduil sighed, taking a surprisingly large gulp of wine.

Suddenly the excitedly nervous twisting of his stomach dropped, replaced with cold, hard dread. Was it really just an act? Thorin wondered. But then why did Bilbo’s attention seem singularly focused on him? The waiter should be playing up to both of them if his focus was only on tips.

If Thorin were anyone else, he would simply wait until Thranduil left and then ask the waiter for his number. Then again, it was probably in poor taste to ask someone else out right after a date. And no matter how much Thorin hated to admit it, this was, in fact, a date. 

With that in mind, Thorin turned his attention back to the man sitting across from him, asking a general question about Thranduil’s work.

The two carried on a civil conversation, if impersonal. It was clear that neither was interested. Though they may as well play this out, if only because the food was already ordered and leaving so early would cause a scene.

Bilbo checked in often – suspiciously often, in fact, considering how long they had had to wait for him to even show up in the first place. The restaurant was incredibly busy, packed with customers waiting for a server. Yet Bilbo always took the time to stop by, giving Thorin a beautiful smile as he asked how things were.

“Maybe one of these rounds you will actually grace us with our food,” Thranduil sniped finally.

“Of course, sir, right away,” Bilbo replied with forced politeness.

The next few times Bilbo passed by without stopping. Yet he would always make eye contact with Thorin; the man wasn’t sure if he should feign a question, but as soon as he thought of doing so, Thranduil’s comment from earlier came to mind – what if it was all just for tips?

Finally Bilbo returned, arms laden with a tray of food.

“Medium grilled rib-eye,” he declared as he set the first plate down.

Thorin did not hesitate before picking up a knife and fork, cutting into the thick, tender meat.

“And tagliatelle in porcini sauce with,” Bilbo paused, pulling a grater and block of white, crumbling cheese from the tray. “Freshly shaved Parmesan cheese.”

Thranduil’s chin dipped approvingly as Bilbo grated the cheese back and forth over his plate, nodding when it was to his satisfaction.

“And how is the steak?” Bilbo asked, turning to Thorin with a smile.

“Juicy,” Thorin replied around a mouthful of food.

“Just how I like my meat.”   
Thorin’s head whipped up as Bilbo turned around and walked away, though not before giving Thorin a saucy wink. The man choked slightly, coughing to clear his throat.

 

When Thranduil revealed he had a son, Thorin thought they had found common ground. Finally there was hope – not for a second date (the man would sooner shoot himself, and his date would no doubt agree), but at least for a decent, semi-interesting dinner conversation.

Thorin decided to share an anecdote from when his nephews, Fíli and Kíli, had visited the previous week. They had been calmly sitting together as they painted, so Thorin had stepped out of the room. He was gone only a moment, but it was long enough for the two hellions to create a colourful mural. All over his wall.

Thorin chuckled at the memory (it was easier to laugh than it had been at the time), but Thranduil only sniffed.

“I am thankful Legolas never indulged in such  _ childish  _ whims,” he said.

Thorin fell silent after that; it was hard to speak when your jaw was tightly clenched so as to prevent any biting retorts from accidentally slipping out.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Thranduil said as he stood from his seat. “I must check in with the sitter.”

Once the man was out of earshot, Thorin groaned, face falling into his palms. And yes, he put his elbows on the table, because  _ why the hell not _ . He lifted his head only long enough to down the rest of his wine, placing the empty glass back down on the edge of the table.

“Bad date?”

Thorin looked up, hope renewing as he saw the waiter standing before him, pouring more wine into his glass.

With a sardonic snort, Thorin snatched up the glass and took a few more gulps, smiling thankfully as Bilbo refilled it right away.

“Never agree to a blind date,” he advised.

Bilbo grimaced, his former veneer of polite distance blessedly dropped. “I don’t know what I would do, if it ever came to that.”

Perhaps realizing his unintended insult, the waiter’s eyes widened. But Thorin only chuckled, grinning as Bilbo’s light, soft laugh joined in.

“I only wish I knew how to get out of this date sooner,” Thorin bemoaned.

“Family emergency?” Bilbo offered. “I’ve seen plenty of those.”

“A little cliché, isn’t it?” Thorin countered.

Bilbo sniffed haughtily. “I prefer to think of it as a  _ classic _ .”

“To go along with your  _ classic _ , over-priced taste in wine?” Thorin asked, grinning ruefully.

Bilbo opened his mouth, eyes dancing mischievously before his jaw quickly snapped shut. “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?” he asked, stepping away from his too-close proximity at Thorin’s side. Thorin frowned as he glanced around, face falling as he noticed Thranduil’s approach.

Groaning quietly, Thorin slipped his elbows off the table. “Help me,” he mouthed as Bilbo quickly departed, shoulders shaking slightly.

“More wine!” Thranduil ordered at Bilbo’s retreating form as he slid back into his seat.

 

Bilbo returned with surprising quickness, even for him. Though as he poured the wine, a strange thing happened – another man passed by, dressed similarly to Bilbo, though he wore a more formal black suit jacket. The black and white outfit denoted a worker, but his strangely long moustache seemed wildly out of place in such a formal restaurant. As he walked past, he knocked into Bilbo. The waiter gasped as the wine glass knocked over, yellow liquid spilling across the table and trickling onto Thranduil’s clothes.

Thranduil leapt up immediately, snarling angrily. Bilbo grabbed some cloth napkins from the table, shoving them into the customer’s hands as he murmured apologies.

“You’ve poured wine all over my suit!” Thranduil scolded.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir.”

“How can such a clumsy fool be allowed to work here?”

Bilbo opened his mouth once more, likely to gush out apologies, which this job seemed to require in multitudes. Thorin stood, ready to come to Bilbo’s defence, when another voice interrupted.

“Pardon me, sir.” It was the man who had knocked into Bilbo, smiling at Thranduil with far more amiability than the situation seemed to warrant. “It was my fault, I’m afraid.”

“And who are you?” Thranduil asked, barely pausing from wiping his clothes to look up.

“My name is Bofur, sir, and I am the manager. Consider the drinks on us, and please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“I will not be dining here again,” Thranduil swore, striding towards the bathroom without another word.

Bilbo and Bofur turned to each other, sighing and rolling their eyes.

“Please come back,” Bilbo muttered. “For we shall so miss your company.”

Bofur laughed, giving Bilbo a friendly pat on the back before leaving. Bilbo hummed as he began mopping wine from the table, shooting Thorin a sly smile as he said, “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“That was on purpose?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I feel as though it’s my duty, saving handsome strangers from atrocious dates.”   
Thorin opened his mouth to genuinely thank the waiter when his words sunk in. “Handsome?” he repeated, trying for coy flirting, though it came out more like choked surprise.

“I’m not really supposed to do this,” Bilbo continued, pulling out his pad and scribbling something down. “But maybe I can show you what a  _ good _ date is?”

Once again Bilbo sauntered away, though not before tucking a folded piece of paper into Thorin’s breast pocket. The man immediately pulled it out, grinning goofily at the curved writing. Bilbo’s name and phone number, with a silly smiley face drawn underneath.

Perhaps blind dates were not so bad, after all.


End file.
